


Bad Luck Turned Good

by AvidDreamWriter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Eventual character death and violence, M/M, Sex Slave AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-06 23:53:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvidDreamWriter/pseuds/AvidDreamWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gestimas Captor is a sex slave who's gone through mutliple masters due to his "disobedience". It's just another selling day in the brothel when an interesting buyer comes in and selects him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this on a trip to Florida, and began to roleplay a basic storyline with my lovely Dualscar. I know how this will end and some of the stuff in between, but I don't know WHEN it'll end.

At ten sweeps old, Gestimas was considered one of the best whores a troll could ever have. Not only that, but he was a fertile one too. Masters would buy him and tattoo their marks on his arm, use him to their pleasure, and then get rid of him. Sometimes he would get pregnant from the ordeals and lay two to four eggs, but his masters usually smashed them. If he was close enough to the caverns, he’d manage to sneak out and place the poor things with a Jade blood. That was usually when he got caught and put back on the selling block. Curse his soft heart.

Today was one of those days when he got caught, and he was now sitting in a brothel, being examined by trolls of various colors and castes. None of them wanted to have anything to do with him; however, because of his lack of complete and total obedience to whomever he’d call master. They were mostly concerned about the amount of tattoos he had. Both of his arms were full to the shoulders, and none of them wanted to deal with finding other, more visible spots to place their marks on. It wasn’t his fault that his old masters got tired of him and decided to throw him right back onto the market.

He didn’t want to stay there longer than he had to, but he could do nothing about it if he wasn’t bought by a new master. They’d take him back up to his “room” and chain him to the bed (which was screwed to the floor) so he couldn’t escape. Then again, mere physical objects couldn’t keep a developing psionic down for long. That was another thing he kept hidden, but all trolls knew full well that you didn’t have to have a psionic yellow blood for them to breed psionic grubs. Psionics were more of a chance genetic mutation, but they could be tied to a family genetically. No one had figured out how psionics went from yellow blood to yellow blood, so they just assumed that all yellows could potentially produce a psionic.

Whereas most of the selling and buying sessions were rather normal and quiet, today’s wasn’t so. A few blues had started a fight over an ill-fated rustblood, who was scared out of her mind. He watched her with a feeling of sorrow as they tumbled out to the streets, at which point, she fled upstairs, crying. The owner was mad with her, but one of the older, more favored whores pacified him and went up to deal with the poor young troll. Gestimas, however, stayed rooted to the spot, keeping the illusion that he could be kept down with chains and shackles. His eyes (thank god the psionics hadn’t mutated them yet) watched the scene before him. Male trolls were practically dragged out, while the females submissively followed their new masters out the door of the building.

It wasn’t until noon that the strangest troll came in. He had a royal sort of air around him, and he was wearing a cape that would make him look like an Imperial drone. Lighting-shaped horns sat on his head, and two scars crossed his face. He looked around with a glare, eyes settling on the owner, who scrambled over to show him “the wares” as he called the other trolls. The owner almost passed Gestimas over, but the imperial troll stopped and examined him. Gestimas nearly gasped when he saw the hard, military-like gaze soften as it fell on his arms, and he almost instantly got vibes of pity off the other, who merely stood straighter and nodded his head.

“I’ll take that one.” he said, pointing at Gestimas with one of his ringed fingers. There was an accent to his voice, not hard on the ears, but it was most certainly pleasing in a place filled with uncultured low bloods.

“I assure you,” the owner replied, glaring at Gestimas. “That you do not want that disobedient whore. He’s been through multiple owners, and he has a problem with listening.”

“M’not lookin’ fer obedience.”

“Most Honorable Orphaner, if you are looking to have an heir, I suggest you go elsewhere. These whores are not worth it to one of your caste, I-”

Gestimas didn’t even see him move, but the owner was suddenly pinned against the wall by his neck, his blunt claws scratching at the imperial’s muscled arm.

The Orphaner pulled his lips back in a snarl, earfins lowering. He wasn’t quite completely mad yet, but he was slowly getting there. “Don’t tell me what is worth my time and what isn’t. I’ll have that one, or I’ll have yer head.” He dropped the owner, who kneeled on the floor, coughing. “How much?”

The owner caught his breath and stood up before speaking, straightening his shirt. “Five-hundred.”

The Orphaner tsked and crossed his arms. “That’s how much they go untouched. He’s been marked, abused, and probably borne a few eggs in his lifetime. Two-fifty.”

“Thee-hundred.”

“Don’t test me, lowblood.” he growled, lowering his gaze.

“All right, all right. Two fifty.” the coins were pressed into his hands, The Orphaner’s remaining open. “What?”

“The key for his shackles. Hand it over.”

“It’s procedure for the unruly ones to be-”

“Don’t tell me what’s standard, just give me the cod-damned key!” he roared.

Gestimas winced from the volume of his voice, and he was pretty certain that the other wasn’t too happy about raising his voice either. Seadwellers were known to have sensitive hearing, especially so to hear each other underwater.

Grumbling, the owner dug in his pocket for the key, putting it in his ringed hand. “Keep it, those chains are ruined. You might just need them.”

“I think not.” he shooed the owner away and unlocked the shackles around Gestimas’ wrists, who began to rub them. What surprised the yellow blood the most was that the imperial actually kneeled down to undo the shackles around his ankles. “M’sorry that ya had to see that, darlin’.” The shackles fell to a floor with a loud thunk, and he stood up to help Gestimas do the same. “I’m not at my best when filth like that one tries to mess with me.”

“It’s all right, master.” he mumbled, keeping his eyes cast downward out of respect.

“Ach, no, ya don’t have to do that.” he put a finger under his chin and tilted his head up so he could look at him. “No, yer no simple whore anymore.”

“Then what am I, master?”

The Orphaner looked around the building and sighed. He looped an arm around Gestimas’ waist and began walking out. “I’ll talk to ya better when we get to my ship. But first, we’ve gotta get ya proper clothin’. These rags do nothin’ for ya.”


	2. Chapter 2

They spent about two hours shopping for clothing that The Orphaner deemed appropriate for his new fascination. His new wardrobe consisted mostly of yellows, blues, and reds, but there was one outfit of purple, and one that mixed their colors perfectly, more fitted to a wedding ceremony. He would’ve questioned it, had The Orphaner not hushed him with a glance. It wouldn’t be right for him to comment on the clothes his new master was buying him, except to say that he liked them. Although, if he put off even an air of not liking a piece, The Orphaner would nod his head solemnly and find something else for him to try on. Gestimas merely kept his gaze low out of respect for The Orphaner and the jade who was tailoring his new clothes right there in her shop. Essentially, he was worth nothing. At one point, the jade almost commented on the various marks of previous masters, but a simple look and a smile from The Orphaner made her lose her track of mind. They left the shop without incident, The Orphaner carrying the clothing in one arm while the other was snaked around Gestimas’ waist.

“Would you like me to carry the clothes, master?” he asked. Of course, it was normal for a slave to carry their own clothes. Then again, everything about this troll was off.

“Nah, doll. Tis quite a heavy bundle. Wouldn’t want ya to hurt yerself.”

“If that is what my master wishes.”

They strolled along the town, as if The Orphaner was showing Gestimas off as a prize. Their general direction was near the docks, and he was amazed when they stopped near one of the largest (and more sinister looking) ships. He knew that the docks were in deep water, but he didn’t think they were deep enough to house a ship of this size.

“Welcome, doll, to The Deviance, yer new home. Lest we happen ta stop in Arkilay fer shore leave. Oi, you blighters! Catch this!” he called, tossing the bundle of clothing up and over the railing in one heave. “Can ya climb a rope?”

He nodded. There were plenty of times when he used a makeshift rope to escape from rooms and windows that were high from the ground.

“Come on up after me, I’ll help ya over the railin’. And there’s no point in runnin’, either. Once The Orphaner gets sight and smell o’ ya, yer not leavin’ him easily.” he laughed and grabbed the rope ladder, climbing it swiftly.

The thought of running never crossed Gestimas’ mind until the other troll mentioned it. In fact, he felt quite at peace in his company, and he rather liked it. Much slower than the sea-troll, he grabbed the rope ladder and clung to it for dear life as he slowly climbed up. He heard The Orphaner’s voice, probably telling the few crew members on deck about him. When his head popped over the railing, he felt a strong and firm grip on his arm, which hauled him up and over the railing. That same grip held him even tighter, and it most certainly didn’t belong to The Orphaner, who was making his way up to the wheel to bark orders at the trolls now scrambling across the deck. Gestimas was led away from the scene and practically thrown into the Orphaner’s cabin, his bundle of clothes tossed at him. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that the door was locked, but no one has permission to lock the door other than the captain himself.

Deciding that his clothes were indeed rags, Gestimas picked one of the yellow outfits and pulled it on, leaving the rags in a pile by, what he figured, was a spare chest. The ship slowly began to move, and he seated himself in a chair near the window so he could watch the place he once called home slip away.

 

The sun was beginning to set when the door opened and The Orphaner came in to sit in one of the more plush-looking chairs. Thankfully, Gestimas had chosen a plainer one to sit in, but it was doing nothing for his back. He watched the other kick off his boots and (miraculously) unclip his cloak and toss it on the table.

“Why don’t ya come here and let’s have a nice talk?” he asked, a smile on his face. “There’s no need to be scared, I ain’t gonna use ya yet. From what I figure, ya’ve borne eggs recently, haven’t ya?”

Tentatively, Gestimas got up from his chair and walked to the seadweller, bare feet padding almost silently against the wooden floor. “Yes… It’s why I was put back for sale, master.”

“Oh enough o’ that master bullshit. Come, take a seat.” he gestured at the other plush chair, threading his fingers together.

Gestimas sat down in the chair, spreading the loose cloth around him on the seat. “But if you don’t own me, then who does?”

“You own yerself, ninny.” he replied. “Though if ya really want to belong to me, I wouldn’t mind it. I got some things ya could wear to denote ya as mine.”

“Then what am I to call you?”

He thought a moment before answering. “Icantheon. But in front o’ the crew, it’ll be Captain. Tell me, how many masters have ya had?”

“Enough to cover both my arms. I haven’t counted. Some of them are written over.”

“Poor thin’… And how many eggs have ya borne?”

“I’ve lost count. Too many, too few, I don’t know. All I know is that I wanted to murder them when they dashed the eggs against the rocks.”

Icantheon frowned and he got up from his chair, moving to wrap the other in a tight, yet comforting hug. “Damn my heart.” he mumbled. “Pityin’ ya this much ain’t right.”

Oh. So that’s why the wedding-like garment was bought. Icantheon pitied him, and Gestimas could tell that he’d fallen fast and hard for his poor self. In fact, it was hard not to pity himself at times. “You don’t know my name, you don’t know anything about me other than that I’m a dirty, used whore.”

“M’not concerned ‘bout that.” he mumbled into Gestimas’ shoulder. “I don’t care. What I care ‘bout is you.” Icantheon’s grip tightened on him and he sighed. “I care ‘bout yer health and what makes ya happy.”

“But I am happy. You’re the nicest master I’ve ever had.” He leaned up some and looked at Icantheon. “Er, well…”

“I’m the first troll who ain’t abused and used ya.” Icantheon chuckled and picked him up. He walked over to his plush chair and sat down, holding Gestimas in his lap. “We’ve got all the time in the world now to get to know each other better.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Everythin’.”

Gestimas shifted a bit, wondering idly what everything could be to Icantheon. He decided that it would be better to keep the psionics secret from the larger troll for as long as possible. “Would you like me to start from the beginning?”

“If you want to.”

“Well…. My name’s Gestimas Captor and I hatched ten sweeps ago. I was captured from my lusus before I pupated. I was far too young to become a whore, so they waited. And they waited until I was five sweeps old before they tossed me with my first master. He was kind to me, seeing as I was so young, but I wasn’t a troll. I was an item, a thing for him to use to his pleasure.”

“Wish I could’a come sooner.”

“No, he wasn’t the worst.” he sighed. “There was a blue blood…. he had a thing for hoof-beasts. I ran away before he could plan anything too… damaging to me involving one of his stallions.”

“I can take out some well-plotted revenge on him if ya want me to. All I need is his name.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. But that’s the start of my sad story, bouncing from master to master, bearing eggs within half a sweep of each other, watching them smashed open… I did manage to get a few to the brooding caverns, though. I have a friend there, and she helped me out. If they made it past the Trials, I wouldn’t want to know who they were or where they are anyway. They’d bring up far too many painful memories for my liking.”

Icantheon began stroking his hair halfway through his story, trying his best not to scratch his scalp with his claws or rings. “And the end?”

Gestimas laughed, putting a hand on his arm. “We haven’t reached it yet, have we? My story ends when I die. What about yours?”

“Mm…. I don’t think my story will end fer a long while. And sadly, it’ll end after yers does.”

“Then why become so attached to me if you already know that I will die before you?” he asked, almost getting up from Icantheon’s lap. “What’s the point? You’ll just move on and get another troll to suit your fancy.”

“There ain’t gonna be any space in my red quadrant fer anyone but you, Gestimas.” Icantheon’s grip on him tightened and he sighed. “And that’s the damn truth. An’ if it takes sweeps fer ya to return the affection, then so be it.”

“How about I adjust to life on a ship first?”

“Aye, we can do that.”


End file.
